Her Stomach as my Pillow
by stony brook
Summary: Ranma lays in a tent next to his pregnant wife, reflecting on how it is that they both ended up there. One shot, potentially more. RanmaxAkane


Warning: This is rated R, though it could probably pass for PG-13 because theres only some mild insinuations and very brief and generally harmless descriptions. Hardly even lime-scented.  
  
-------------------  
  
Her Stomach as my Pillow  
  
I can feel the cold dirt compacted with sticks and pebbles beneath the floor of the tent. It wouldn't be so noticeable if I was on the bedroll curled up next to the woman I intend to spend the rest of my like with. However if I'm curled up next to that particular woman, her body heat and scent will lull me to sleep and I wont be able to consciously enjoy this moment. So instead I'm sprawled on the tent floor with my face a hand- width away from my wife's naked tummy.  
  
I'm watching the sleek, white skin of her abdomen move up and down with every steady breath she takes. The fact that she's breathing is no impressive occasion, though I thank the kami for it on a regular basis. Actually, it's the slight rise in flesh starting bellow her ribcage, peaking around her small navel, and tinkering off in to the nest of curly black hairs that I made sure to pay special attention to last night.  
  
No, my wife isn't getting fat, as much as I used to tease her about it. She's pregnant with my child. I smile at the thought. My wife. My child. My family.  
  
I lift my head to view her sleeping face and I smile even more. She's an angel with a hallow of short blue-black hair; her head is tilted to rest against the pillow, lips slightly parted, cheeks still faintly flushed from the nights activities, her thick, fluttering eyelashes rest against her cheeks hiding her expressive brown eyes. I gently lean my cheek against her warm stomach and close my eyes.  
  
I know it's too early on to physically feel anything, but I'd sworn to her earlier today that I could sense the baby's ki. Of course, when I'd told her, she'd laughed at me and rubbed her hand over her growing tummy. I'd pouted at her and she'd laughed even harder; I guess it must have looked pretty ridiculous on a twenty year-old. Then she'd shaken her head and told me that if the baby has as big an ego as its father does than it might very well be possible. She'd tried to keep a straight face but a few giggles had broken free at the hurt look I'd constructed. I had told her that it wasn't ego, but confidence that fueled my ki attacks, I then tried to explain the difference but couldn't quite manage it, and so I'd settled for an alternate approach. I couldn't have helped it really, not when she looked so cute sitting there, hiding her smile behind her hand, mischief gleaming in her eyes. So, I had dumped a canteen of water over her head. Of course things had quickly degenerated from there and we didn't return to camp until much later and soaking wet.  
  
After a change and a meal, which I'd started to cook since curry has its appeals but not the kind that beg it to be eaten seven days a week, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Cooking is one of the few things in our relationship that still cause us problems. She's gotten better, granted, but not by much. Recently, we've taken to cooking together, which has its benefits quite unrelated to food, like all the stolen kisses, touches, smiles, and tastes. And if the meal doesn't quite turn out the way it was supposed to, it doesn't really matter because by that time it's been long forgotten for more pleasurable pursuits.  
  
So maybe it was more like: After a change and an attempt at a meal. Anyways, as you might guess, all of those cooking attempts played a significant role in getting my fiery little wife in to the state she is now. I smile and rub my cheek against her smooth skin before settling my ear against her tummy once more.  
  
Right now, I can smell her almost as much as I can feel her. I could recognize the scent anywhere, even before I'd admitted that I loved her and became intimately acquainted with it. It's not just the smell of sex, though at the moment that's certainly a part of it; it's also the smell of her hair, like the shampoo she always uses, and the fine layer of sweat she accumulates after training. It's sweet and fiery and musky and oh so alive. Back when we still lived in Nerima, with my two other fiancés and seemingly endless supply of suitors chasing either or occasionally both of us, I would relish this. The brief smell and feel of her as she tried to pummel me in a sparring session or when I'd have her in arms as I saved her from some impending danger. It was a joy I experienced frequently because before we'd left I firmly believed the world was out to destroy my happiness by hurting those I cared for.  
  
After Saffron and the failed wedding, I'd reached a low point. The truth was I couldn't do my ki attacks anymore; I tried to hide it, but eventually someone noticed. Happosai. Maybe it was because the old hentai was so sensitive to ki or maybe he just noticed that I stopped using them. By that time, it had been four months since the aborted matrimony and I'd had several challengers trying for my blood or the blood of those around me. I almost lost once to a crazed young man seeking to claim something that wasn't his.  
  
I wrap an arm protectively around my wife's abdomen.  
  
If he had won she would've been forced to..  
  
I shudder and let the thoughts die in my head. There's no use going down that path because it didn't happen. Despite my inability to use my more dangerous ki attacks, I was able to win, but not before sustaining some very serious injuries. I was in the hospital for weeks, even with my rapid healing ability, holed up in a bed with broken bones, lacerations, and a serious blow to my head. That's when Happosai stopped by. I thought he was there to rub my near defeat in my face and tell me I was getting sloppy, maybe even dismiss me as a student of Anything Goes. Needless to say, I was surprised when he explained to me exactly why my ki attacks weren't working. Pretty simple really, I wasn't confident anymore. In fact, he said I had almost no belief in any of my abilities, probably resulting from all of the stress and self-doubt that's been inflicted on myself since moving to Nerima.  
  
For the remainder of my stay in the hospital, another week, I contemplated exactly what this meant. I figured that if I didn't gain my confidence back soon, I was bound to lose. Hell, even Ryoga was becoming a menace. Despite his threats, I'd never thought he'd really kill me, he's just not the type, but I still refuse to be defeated by pig-boy. Though pretty soon, one of the people serious about my death just might've just decided I was due for an attempt on my life.  
  
I thought of leaving for a long time. I'd sneak in to her room and watch her sleep, trying to find the words to make her understand why I had to go. But in the end I couldn't say anything, instead I'd just watch her toss in her sleep. Unconsciously I'd run my fingertips along her cheek and wonder what she was dreaming about. I'd never seen anybody sleep so violently and I realized that the stress and chaos that crowded my life also crowded hers. However, I knew that even if I left her, which I wasn't sure I would be able to do, the danger would still be there. After all, the man who almost killed me was only after her, I'd just gotten in his way. Just like the orochi at Ryugenzawa.  
  
I couldn't leave her because there would still be more suitors trying to force her hand. The girl just seemed to draw men like a flame draws moths. So I stayed in Nerima and tried to keep out of trouble, at which I had about as much success as I usually did.  
  
It was our last year in high school when my situation really became apparent. My grades, which weren't anything to brag about before, started to suffer from my nightly visits to her room. Pop started beating me hands- down in our morning sparring sessions because I was too tired and miserable to put up a decent fight. The only good thing that happened at all was my relationship with Akane improved. She felt guilty about my time in the hospital and visited me nearly every day. Somehow she believed that she was responsible for that bastard's actions despite how many times I told her otherwise. Either way, we developed a true friendship; well, after all we'd been through something had to develop.  
  
In an odd way, she became the best friend I'd ever had. When we stopped insulting each other and making unfounded accusations, we got along very well. She wasn't trying to force me to do anything I didn't want to like Ucchan, Shampoo, Nabiki, Pop, Mr. Tendo and even Mom. Being with her were some of the only good memories I have of that year. Not to say we coexisted peacefully the entire time; I still had a big mouth and she still had a temper, but it was pretty rare when we had an all-out fight like we used to. Although, when we did I felt like drowning myself.  
  
It seemed that everything that had ever stressed me came to pile down on top of the little self-confidence I had left. And when a fight with her was added to the top it just seemed like more than I could handle. Luckily for both of us, that she's almost as quick to forgive as I am or I might have left and regretted it for a long time afterwards.  
  
When we finally graduated my Pop started talking about taking me on another training trip to 'toughen me up' before I got married, really he was concerned about my decline in skill. Yes, our fathers were still trying to get us to tie the knot, but their attempts were not quite as drastic as before. However, I still didn't feel comfortable leaving her behind and, truth was, I didn't know if I could survive anymore of my Pop's training in the my state. She knew it too and the night before the trip we'd discussed some important things, though we did managed to leave out our feelings for each other.  
  
The next morning the family awoke to find that we, along with our camping gear, were missing.  
  
Nearly two years of traveling, several continents, and multitude of countries later, I'm lying in a tent in China with my wife's stomach as my pillow, trying to make out the feelings of our baby's ki. I open my eyes and look at her face; surprisingly I'm greeted with her beautiful brown eyes gazing intently in to my own. She smiles and reaches a hand down to brush a few stray bangs from my face.  
  
"Ranma, anata," she says softly.  
  
"Yeah 'Kane?" I continue to gaze at her from the comfort of her tummy, watching her face through the valley between her breasts.  
  
"If you fall asleep and drool on my stomach, I'm going to be pretty upset in the morning," she says with a smile. I grin back.  
  
I move in beside her on the bedroll, turning her over and pressing my chest to her back. I wrap an arm around her waist, still small at this point in her pregnancy.  
  
"This better?" I ask as I nuzzle the space between her neck and shoulder, taking in her scent.  
  
"Mmmm, much," she mumbles before I feel her drift of to sleep in my arms. I plant a soft kiss on her shoulder and close my eyes, allowing her body- heat and scent to lull me to sleep.  
  
--------------------- A/N:  
  
Anata: term of endearment a wife might use for her husband, 'darling'  
  
I wrote this in one sitting. I was sorta thinking of making a nice long continuation out of it, using this as some sort of an outline, but I'm really not sure. I'd probably include a lot more about what they did on their travels and such. We'll see, I guess.  
  
- stony brook 


End file.
